Hell On Earth
by Garbage and City Lights
Summary: AU (alternate universe). Say that Frank Redbear died before he could push the Harvester forward. Well, what then? Press on, children, press on! {NOW UPDATED AT LAST!}
1. A New Ending -- or Beginning

**Title:** Hell on Earth  
**Author:** Meagan-bird  
**Rating:** PG-13  
**Summary:** AU (alternate universe). Say that Frank Redbear died before he could push the Harvester forward. Well, what then? Press on, children, press on! I need lots of reviews to make sure I'm doing this right.  
**Disclaimer:** I own nothing but the fic you see before you and the citizens of St. Cecilia. Can't sue me, I'm makin' no money! HAH! COTC and whatnot belong to Stephen King and all those people.  
  
The pain was unbearable.  
  
Redbear had felt the arrow pierce his side and was still in disbelief. He had survived all these years in the valleys of tainted corn -- not to mention those years at college -- and now he was going to die at the hands of some crazy orphaned children.  
  
Life sure was funny.  
  
His vision was blurring, his head spinning, and he knew he had to do something fast. Biting back the pain that was slowly taking over, Redbear reached shakily for the lever. It had taken a while to understand the configuration of the Harvester; he was pretty sure he could put that knowledge to good use in his final moments. His bleary eyes looked to the front of the tractor. The black-haired kid, there he was... the one that had threatened them with that deep voice. The black-haired kid was... glowing? Was that real, or just another fun visual illusion the internal bleeding was putting on for him? At any rate, the kid was screaming, holding his knife in the air and screaming. Now was as good a time as any. Redbear swallowed, noticing how dry his throat was becoming, and looked away from the black-haired glowing kid as his vision grew dark. If there was any hope of saving Garrett and the others, he had to do it now. The silver-haired Indian sucked in his breath, began to put the Harvester in gear ...  
  
... and died.  
  
Garrett watched the vision with a kind of horrified wonder; the lightning and terrible screaming finally stopped as Micah slowly lowered his machete. His skin was still unnaturally pale, but the sallow sour milk quality had retreated a little. The shadows in the hollows of his face weren't so drastic anymore, and he'd stopped sweating. There was a very long silence broken only by the crackling of burning husks before Micah opened his eyes and shocked them all; the pupils were obsidian black, swollen to hide most of the whites. Pure darkness. He swept the intensity of black fire over each of them in turn: first Garrett, then Lacey, then Angela, and finally Danny. When he spoke, his voice was a thousand voices in one, rage and hatred and _power._ Unspeakable power.  
"You have defiled my fields," Micah growled slowly, careful with each word. "Your sins and corruption must not reach my children." With a delicate wave of one pale hand, he motioned towards the fire that was eating tortuously at the stalks of corn behind the Harvester. Before they could reach the metal and gas, the flames had suddenly changed direction and set their course towards Garrett and the others. It took them a minute, but they began to scramble for escape -- too late. The fire formed a circle around them, trapping them behind the scorching wall of flames.  
_"Micah, don't do this!" _Danny screamed. Lacey and Angela were clinging to each other for some kind of support while Garrett shielded his face against the blaring heat. The pale boy in a yellow robe tilted his head slightly, apparently amused.  
"Have you ever taken the time to read the Bible, Danny?" he asked, a tone of dark sarcasm in his voice. "Revelations, 16:17. 'The seventh angel poured out his bowl into the air. A loud voice came out of the temple from the throne, saying, 'It is done.' ' "  
_"STOP IT!" _Garrett bellowed, but the panicked note couldn't be masked from his words. Micah went on.  
" 'Then there were lightning flashes, rumblings, and peals of thunder, and a great earthquake. It was such a violent earthquake that there never has been one like it since the human race began on earth.' " His children had gathered behind him on the scorched rubble of dirt and burnt stalks; they were wide-eyed and silent, having never seen such a thing before. Their leader had shown anger before, yes, anger and power, but neither so intense as this. Micah's pale lips formed a very slow smirk as he lifted a palm towards Garrett, Danny, and the screaming women. "It is done," he whispered, and the earth swallowed them whole. 


	2. Changes

**Title:** Hell on Earth  
**Author:** Meagan-bird  
**Rating:** PG-13  
**Summary:** AU (alternate universe). Say that Frank Redbear died before he could push the Harvester forward. Well, what then? Press on, children, press on! I need lots of reviews to make sure I'm doing this right.  
**Disclaimer:** I own nothing but the fic you see before you and the citizens of St. Cecilia. Can't sue me, I'm makin' no money! HAH! COTC and whatnot belong to Stephen King and all those people.  
  
The doors to the church opened quietly.  
  
The creak the hinges made was a soft sound, one that was barely concealed by the priest's homily. No one paid attention as the seven forms silently filed in, slinking along the back of the church in search of a seat. Gabe was sitting in the front, like she usually did, so she could see the priest better. She liked Father Mike; he was very casual in his teachings, very much a people person. She had found that if she sat up in the front she could usually understand the readings better. So there she was again, in the very first pew, listening with rapt attention as Father Mike covered the book of Revelations. Normally the parish didn't like to touch on that subject -- what with all that was happening in the world, Armageddon seemed much too close for comfort -- but that was another thing she liked about Father Mike. He believed in following the rules, but not to the extreme. Since the teens in the weeknight religion service had requested that he explain the elaborate, sometimes confusing book in class, Father Mike decided to make it the week's reading. Gabe shifted a little in her seat, an unconcious smile formed on her lips. She loved hearing about the Bible; sometimes it was even more interesting than a Stephen King novel. Prophets and martyrs and angels -- Revelations was chock full of angels. Most of them happened to be pouring fire upon the earth, but that was hardly the point.  
  
Someone closed the door loudly, loud enough to make the _slam _echo off the walls and distract people from the sermon. Gabe frowned a little and turned along with the rest of the parishioners, expecting to see an embarrassed housewife who'd run a little late. She was surprised to see six or seven teenagers neatly lined up against the back wall, slowly spreading out to each side. They were dressed strangely, like something she'd seen in a Social Studies video about the Amish. She was about to glance back at Father Mike, mildly annoyed at the interruption, when she noticed something else. They were carrying sticks. ... no, not sticks, something else ...  
  
"Pardon the interruption, Father," one of them murmured.  
  
When they closed the door, only a few of the parishioners had turned their heads to see. Now nearly all of them swiveled to look at the speaker; it was a pale boy in a neat black suit, his hands clasped calmly behind his back. Gabe frowned slightly, twisting in her seat to see him better and cursing her breezy summer dress as she did so. The one negative aspect of church: her stupid skirts that restricted all comfortable movement.  
"Excuse me?" Father Mike asked, half confused and half concerned. The boy smiled at him and waved each delicate pale hand; once to the left, then once to the right. The oddly dressed teens that had gathered behind each row of pews obediently spread forward, walking up both sides of the church and surrounding the parishioners.  
"You see, we're new in town," the pale boy said, briefly running a hand over his thick dark hair, "and we felt this would be the most appropriate way to introduce ourselves. And seeing as there was no welcoming committee..." His lips twitched into a smirk, and something inside Gabe went cold.  
"Sit down, young man," Father Mike said evenly. "I'm sure you and your friends could find a seat in the back --"  
"We'd rather not," the boy murmured with a tilt of the head, glancing briefly around the church. "In fact, I think it's time you stepped down and let _me _read a little."  
"What --" Gabe's head whirled just in time to see Father Mike sink to the ground; a boy with curly brown hair placed a foot on his back and calmly removed the long-handled scythe from his back.  
  
Several people screamed.  
  
Gabe, however, was struck silent with fear. The rest of the teens the boy had brought in with him were moving in for the kill, and quite literally; people were going down like flies, blood and metal were flashing in each pew. There went Mrs. Thatcher, who taught 2nd grade down at JFK elementary, and Mr. Harmon, who worked in the hardware store downtown. Mrs. McClay, Lara Granford, Simon Dratch, down they all went, struck down like Lucifer from the heights of Heaven. Gabe whirled and saw one of the funny dressed kids coming towards her with a hand-held scythe; she finally managed a scream and stumbled back, landing hard on her rear. There was a loud ripping sound as the breezy material of her dress tore all the way up to the hip. Her mouth opened in a breathless shriek as the girl with curly blonde hair raised the scythe above Gabe -- and brought it down into the elderly man behind her.  
  
In less than five minutes, it was all over.  
  
The dead lay strewn haphazardly around the church, some slung over pews and some half under them. Gabe had stumbled to the back and pressed herself into a corner after discovering the doors were guarded by two more oddly dressed teenagers. The rest of the teens she'd attended the service with that morning clustered in their own corners, and when the storm of violence had calmed they were the only ones left standing -- aside from the sobbing children that had hidden beneath the pews. At last, the weapon-wielding teens slowly walked towards the front of the church, where the black-haired boy was standing calmly. His mouth formed a pleasant smile as he gazed around the room, and Gabe, even through her haze of panic and terror, had to admit he looked rather handsome.  
"Isn't it odd," he said, his voice loud and clear in the silence of the church, "how much the dead look like they're merely sleeping?" The boy reached slowly towards the body of Father Mike and lifted him by the hair, showing his deathly white face to the teens in the back. He closed the eyelids with his thumb and forefinger, then chuckled quietly. "Now I lay me down to sleep, I pray the Lord my soul to keep..."  
"You sick freak," one of the boys Gabe knew whispered. Though the words were barley audible, the boy with black hair snapped his dark gaze over to the speaker.  
"Silence," he said coldly, and the boy obeyed.  
"Micah?" He glanced over his shoulder at the girl who'd nearly stabbed Gabe with her scythe. She chewed her lower lip uncertainly. "Micah, shouldn't we be --"  
"Silence," he ordered coldly, then paused as the girl recoiled. The boy who was apparently named Micah released Father Mike's hair, placed two fingers over her mouth in apology, and smiled again. "It's taken care of, Ruth. Now step back." Ruth blushed a deep crimson and stepped back, trying to hide her pleased grin. Micah turned back to the church of frightened children. "What was the sermon today? Shall we take a look?" Gabe struggled for breath, looking over the pews littered with bodies. _Oh my God, _she thought hysterically. _Oh my God..._ "Revelations, eh?" he said in amusement. " 'The first angel went and poured out his bowl on the earth. Festering and ugly sores broke out on those who had the mark of the beast or worshiped its image --' Oh, you silly Catholics!" Micah clasped his hands behind his back and tipped his head towards them. "There are changes taking place, my children. Big changes. I see some of you looking towards the doors. Do you think I would be so stupid as to allow others to interfere? No. I have sent more of my soldiers to take out the town, building by building. The police first, of course." He smiled again, lips pulling back to reveal oddly even white teeth. "We don't like policemen."  
"Why are you doing this?" a girl in the corner whispered. Micah tilted his head to the side, an expression of innocence.  
"I don't think you're ready for our reasons yet," he said simply. "Jedediah?" The boy with curly brown hair stepped forward.  
"Yes, Micah?"  
"How far do you think the troops have spread?" Micah was inspecting each child carefully, faint interest in his black eyes. When he reached Gabe, she shuddered instinctively and tried to hold together her ripped skirt.  
"They've reached the hospital," Jed said after peering out one of the windows. "I imagine they've passed through the neighborhoods already." Gabe forgot about Micah's probing eyes for a moment and covered her mouth with her hands. Edith was at home today; she hadn't been feeling well enough to go to church that morning. Hot tears threatened behind her eyes but seemed unable to flow. _Edith's dead, _she thought numbly. _Edith's dead, oh God, Edith's dead --_  
"Good," Micah murmured, his gaze still lingering on Gabe. At last, he looked away and towards his silent comrades. "Let us see how they are progressing, shall we?" He walked towards the doors slowly, each step echoing in the silent church. "I would suggest you stay here. We will return, and if anyone is missing, they will meet with the wrath of a much more powerful god than that which you have learned about in this place." Micah paused at the door and looked down at Gabe; a slow smirk spread across his pale face as his eyes swept over her once again. She shivered and held her torn dress together with one hand, trying to look him straight in the eye. After only a moment, something cold stung inside her and she snapped her head down. Gabe could hear him chuckle softly and push the door open. "Brave new world," he said, amused, and walked out. 


	3. Sudden Weakness

**Title:** Hell on Earth  
**Author:** Meagan-bird  
**Rating:** PG-13  
**Summary:** AU (alternate universe). Say that Frank Redbear died before he could push the Harvester forward. Well, what then? Press on, children, press on! I need lots of reviews to make sure I'm doing this right.  
**Disclaimer:** I own nothing but the fic you see before you and the citizens of St. Cecilia. Can't sue me, I'm makin' no money! HAH! COTC and whatnot belong to Stephen King and all those people.  
  
Micah was sitting in the dark.  
  
The building that had once served as a hotel was now living quarters for most of the original Hemmingford children, and he had requested to have the entire 9th floor to himself. The whole level was silent -- the children had their orders, and they were strict: do not disturb.  
  
He needed the quiet.  
  
The biggest suite on the floor had all the shades drawn, making the room almost pitch black. Tiny leaks of sunlight crept in from the windows (which irritated him beyond belief), but they were cheap shades anyway and he had no way of solar-proofing the room. Micah closed his eyes, bringing the unconditional darkness of his lids, and ran a hand slowly through his hair. His head still pounded like a wild Native American drum but at least his eyes didn't burn anymore. Possession hangover, the voices in his head had explained patiently when he woke up standing in the lobby of St. Cecilia Central Hospital. Micah couldn't remember anything clearly beyond that; all his memories of Hemmingford had been churned into twisting smoke and unfamiliar faces. The voices that now seemed to permanently reside in his subconscious had informed him of everything. At first, he'd been skeptical, then hysterical, and at last numbly calm. He Who Walks Behind The Rows had worked his will through him, just as he'd worked through Isaac in Gatlin, and there was nothing he could do to fight the deity's orders.  
  
Besides, a little part of him didn't want to anymore.  
  
Micah moved his palms to his face and rubbed it slowly, trying to work out the throbbing headache he had. The demon had lived in him for a few days, but that was all it took to affect his own essence. When he was thinking in the dark like this, he sometimes found himself secretly hoping for some kind of visitor to St. Cecilia -- someone he could hunt down and eventually kill, making the Lord pleased with a sacrifice. The lust for blood and power was in him now, and Micah felt it too exhausting to fight.  
"Micah?" The quiet venture didn't startle him a bit; he didn't even remove his hands from his face to speak.  
"Yes, Ruth?" he muttered. The girl placed one hand on the doorframe and nervously tugged at her curly hair with the other.  
"Jedediah wants to speak with you," she said meekly, obviously terrified she was going to anger him in some way. Micah sniffed quietly, then smiled. He could smell her fear floating through the doorway like an extreme overdose of stinky perfume. Another handy trick left by He Who Walks Behind The Rows.  
"About what?" Micah asked softly.  
"The children housed in the neighborhoods refuse to work in the fields." Ruth chewed her lip and gave her hair another healthy tug. "Jedediah felt you might be able to --"  
"Convince them otherwise?" His lips twitched slightly, almost forming a smirk. Micah got slowly to his feet. She watched him carefully but didn't retreat.  
"Yes," Ruth murmured as he walked towards her. Now he could smell something quite different than fear, and Micah was suddenly all too aware of how intently she was watching him walk.  
"Thank you, Ruth," he said simply, and slipped past, careful not to brush against her as he did so. "Let's see this insubordination Jedediah speaks of."  
  
Jed was waiting at the Head House, as they'd decided to call the large white duplex that preceded the neighborhoods, and lead Micah to the source of the problem.  
"They've gathered in a red brick house on Elm," he said immediately. "A boy named Jeremy has grouped them together. They refuse to work in the fields, or even leave the neighborhood."  
"Thank you, Jedediah," Micah responded evenly, turning into the driveway of the indicated house. "How many?" Jed stepped carefully around the dented, burnt-black remains of a '94 Buick.  
"About nine or so," he said after a moment's thought, then sneered. "Unless he's gathered more of them. Micah, this would've been so much easier if we'd just stayed --" Micah whirled on him, black brows met in an angry scowl.  
"Do you question me...?" he growled, and Jed lowered his head in submission.  
"Of course not, Micah." They went silently into the house, easily opening the door. All the locks had been broken; that was Naomi's job. Quiet and good with a screwdriver, she had disabled the locks in the entire neighborhood in less than two nights of work.  
"What have we here?" Micah asked pleasantly, stepping into the ransacked livingroom. The widescreen television was a shattered mess in the corner, pictures and frames had been swept into a neat pile near the kitchen. He smiled calmly at the small group of teenagers, the scent of fear wafting on the air once again. Good. At least he'd accomplished something.  
"Get out of my house," a tawny-haired boy snarled, leaping off the back of the couch with fluid grace. Micah spread his hands, an expression of innocence -- a gesture that said 'We're all friends here.'  
"Not your house, child," he said evenly. "All houses belong to us now. We share the whole town. I believe I explained that very clearly in last week's opening sermon."  
"You don't own _anything!" _ The boy began to advance on him, his face pale with anger. "Who the hell do you think you _are, _coming here and ruining --"  
"Jer," a blonde-haired girl said quietly, placing a restraining hand on his arm. Jeremy seethed for a moment, but slowly sat back down on the couch.  
"Get out of my house," he repeated coldly.  
"Not your house, child," Micah said again, and relished the look of pure rage that passed over his opponent's face. He glanced at the girl by Jeremy's side, recognizing her as the spiky-haired blonde who'd ripped her dress that first day in the church. A smirk tugged at his lips; the girl glared at him and quickly returned her gaze to Jeremy.  
"Calm down," Micah heard her whisper, and barely caught a scent of affection on the air. He tensed a little, then relaxed and clasped his hands behind his back.  
"I've been informed," Micah said calmly, beginning to circle the room so he could inspect each frozen teen, "that you refuse to work in the fields. Why is that?"  
"Because we don't _have _to work in those stupid fields!" Jeremy spat heatedly. "If anyone is going to work, it's going to be _you, _because where you _should _be is --"  
"Jeremy, _calm down," _the girl whispered again. Micah turned his gaze slowly to the girl with spiky blonde hair and slowly smiled.  
"Tell me your name, child," he said simply.  
"Gabe," she responded, her voice surprisingly even.  
"Like the archangel?" He reached out and ran his palm slowly over her hairspray-hardened hair; she shivered slightly and leaned back into the couch, ducking away. Micah smiled anyway, and Jeremy bristled with anger. "I thought I made it quite clear that hairspray and cosmetics were forbidden," he purred, eyeing her over slowly. In one swift movement, Jeremy was on his feet, holding Micah's collar firmly in his hand.  
"Stop... looking at her like that," he snarled. Micah didn't even flinch.  
"Like what?"  
"Like she's a piece of meat and you're a hungry dog." Jeremy shoved him back hard, making Micah nearly stumble over a coffee table. "Back off and _get out."_ He slowly straightened, his original amusement having faded by now. Now he was just pissed.  
"I don't think you quite understand the concept of our newly reformed town," Micah said slowly. Jeremy opened his mouth to snap a retort and was stopped by Micah's hand shooting out and clamping around his neck. He raised his arm, lifting the boy very slowly from the ground until his shoes were grazing the floor. The teenagers gasped as Jeremy began clawing at the pale hand around his throat, making odd choking noises for air. "The Lord is _most _displeased with this display of insubordination. _Most _displeased." The dull ache in Micah's head became a sudden throbbing pain; he tightened his grip around the blaspheme's neck, relishing how the muscles were straining beneath his palm. Jeremy gagged loudly.  
"Stop it!" The spiky-haired blonde was at his side in a flash, tugging desperately at Micah's arm. "Let him go, you're hurting him!" Micah looked at her with a snarl and squeezed a little tighter. Blue eyes met black; Gabe shook his arm again, her gaze pleading. "Please, put him down. Please." Something inside him twisted painfully; Micah looked over her face again, then threw Jeremy the short distance to the sofa. He landed there with a dull thud and the sound of a spring breaking. Gabe stared at Micah a moment more, then hurried to Jeremy's side.  
"You will work in the fields," Micah growled, finally tearing his gaze away from Gabe to sweep it over the small crowd. "You will work in the fields or you will be punished. Severely." He whirled and stalked out the door, slamming it hard enough to shake the walls. Jedediah watched him go with a grimace.  
"I knew we should've stayed in Hemmingford," he muttered.  
  
Micah was back in the dark, his head resting in his hands. Listening. Waiting. Hoping for a brief consultation with the voices that normally wouldn't go away, and now seemed nowhere to be found.  
"What was that?" he whispered to the silence. "Aren't I the strong, unwavering leader?"  
_Stay away from the girl.  
_"Which one?" He lifted his head and cocked it experimentally. "The one with the hair?"  
_Idiot boy. Do not blaspheme. Stay away from that girl.  
_He wasn't stupid, he knew which one they were talking about -- Gabe. She had made him show weakness before Jedediah, before all those watchful children... but surely she could be affected. Made into one of them.  
"I don't want to lose any of them under 19," Micah protested. "How can I stay away from one of my own children? Surely I can change her, make her less of a --"  
_Threat? That's what she is, boy. A threat. STAY AWAY.  
_"But --"  
_Stay away or kill her. It's as simple as that._  
And the voices went silent. 


	4. Almost Kissed

Title: Hell on Earth  
Author: Meagan-bird  
Rating: PG-13  
Summary: AU (alternate universe). Say that Frank Redbear died before he could push the Harvester forward. Well, what then? Press on, children, press on! I need lots of reviews to make sure I'm doing this right.  
Disclaimer: I own nothing but the fic you see before you and the citizens of St. Cecilia. Can't sue me, I'm makin' no money! HAH! COTC and whatnot belong to Stephen King and all those people.  
  
Gabe ran her fingers lightly over Jeremy's neck.  
  
"Hold still," she urged as he squirmed under her touch. "I have to see these bruises. They might be better off with an icepack instead of a compress -- dammit, Jeremy, I told you to hold still!"  
"Sorry," he muttered, looking away. Gabe reached for a rubbery blue icepack and gently pressed it against his swollen neck. She knew his pride was what was smarting most, but he'd never admit it. Jeremy's eyes were cloudy with pain and shame; she could almost see the black hatred for Micah bubbling just beneath the surface. Her own feelings were... conflicted. No, not conflicted, just -- well, she didn't feel like talking about it.  
"Didn't I tell you not to make him angry?" Gabe murmured. She sat back as he took the icepack himself, glaring at the floor. "Before he got there, I told you not to be too offensive, but you went right ahead half-cocked and --"  
"I know what happened," Jeremy snarled. "I was there, wasn't I?!" She stared at him, then slowly crossed her arms.  
"You're snapping at me like this is my fault," Gabe said quietly.  
"No, I'm not!" He paused, then growled softly. "Okay, so I'm a little uptight. Can you blame me?" She began examining her nails idly, hating how the paint was chipped halfway to the cuticle. Normally, they would've been re-painted in three different colors by now, but Micah had made a point of destroying all the cosmetics, nailpolish included. It was by mere chance that she'd had a small bag of emergency supplies hidden under her mattress.  
"Just a bit, yes," she mumbled. Jeremy's scowl darkened; he resituated the icepack on his neck and regarded her carefully.  
"You can't tell me you don't find Michael responsible for any of this?" he asked darkly.  
"Micah," Gabe corrected absently, and blushed. "Well, yeah, of course, but --"  
"No, Gabe," Jeremy snapped. "No but. He's a psychotic, twisted, sick, killer, there is no but."  
"Jer," she protested, but was cut off when he grabbed her by the shoulders and leaned close.  
"Do you remember Edith?" he asked in a tone of quiet anger. "Do you? She was a good person, Gabe. She never did anything to hurt anyone in her entire life, then Michael came into town and had her killed without a second thought. He didn't even know her, and he took her life. Is that fair? Is that right?" Jeremy stared at her hard as Gabe shook her head, keeping her eyes lowered.  
"Of course not," she whispered. "I understand that. I'm not an idiot." When she looked up, their faces were still dangerously close, and for one long moment she thought they were going to kiss. Then he released her shoulders and leaned back, crossing his arms moodily.  
"Good," he said bluntly. Jeremy pulled himself from the couch, rubbing the back of his neck with a hand. "So next time you decide you want to make googly eyes at the head of the Massacre Committee, remember that."  
  
Jedediah poked nervously at his food.  
"Are you sure this isn't sacrilige?" he asked meekly. Micah calmly placed a forkful of some sort of chicken casserole in his mouth. They had all found, with mild surprise, that they liked the stuff.  
"I have consulted with the Lord," he murmured after chewing carefully. "There is no blasphemy in eating what he has laid out for us." There was a murmur of quiet agreement from the children around them; the Hemmingford followers were more than happy to stumble upon the hotel's large supply of food. The stuff they'd found in the spacious white kitchen was so much different from the bland things they survived on in Gatlin. Food still had to be rationed, of course, but at least dinner was something they could look forward to. Jedediah had proved to be a surprisingly good chef.  
"If the Lord has approved it," he said, obviously relieved, then snapped his head up. He'd glimpsed someone walking down the street out of the corner of his eye -- the window he sat at had a perfect view of the center of town. Jed set down his plate and pushed the curtain back slightly. "Micah," he called softly.  
"Hm?" Jedediah looked up and found with some amusement that their almighty leader had a generous amount of brown sauce running down his chin. Knowing he'd probably be punished for it later, he found it too funny to spoil and didn't mention it.  
"When did you say children weren't allowed to leave their houses?" he asked, concealing his smile with a bit of difficulty. Micah busied himself with his food again and speared a piece of chicken with his fork.  
"9 p.m. or after the harvest is done," he answered absently. "Why?" Jed raised a hand and pointed past the curtains.  
"There goes one of the locals. Looks like she's heading towards the school." He squinted a little as Micah got to his feet and joined him at the window. "Is she wearing the clothes you described in the dress code...?"  
"No," Micah growled quietly. "No, she's not." Jedediah glanced up at him, looking expectantly at the pale face that belonged to their leader.  
"And she's out after hours," he finally prompted, unnerved by the lack of action.  
"Indeed she is," the leader said bluntly. There was another long moment of silence before Ruth spoke from behind him.  
"Aren't you going to take care of her?" Her voice was soft and tenative, but just enough to get Micah going at last.  
"Yes I am." He turned away from the window and headed out the door, leaving his chicken casserole on the table the children had dragged into the lobby. Ruth and Jedediah watched as the black-clad figure slid effortlessly into step behind the girl; they both knew he was quiet enough to avoid being noticed until he wished to be.  
"Something's wrong," Jed said at last.  
"What do you mean?" Ruth looked down at him with a little frown, and the curly-haired boy chewed his lower lip slightly.  
"He flinched." He shrugged, trying to appear casual, but it was hard to hide the worried line that was forming between his brows. Ruth's frown deepened; she looked from him to the shadowy form of Micah, then back to Jed again.  
"So?" she demanded. Jedediah took his gaze from her to watch Micah follow the girl down the road, as stealthy as a tiger stalking its prey. After a moment, he looked back up at her and cocked a brow in skepticism.  
"Have you ever seen Micah flinch?"  
  
Gabe had a prickly feeling at the base of her spine, but every time she looked over her shoulder the road seemed to mock her with its emptiness. There was no one following her, even though it certainly felt like it.  
"Going nuts," she mumbled to herself, and picked up the pace.  
  
Micah found it immensely irritating that he had to duck behind the nearest building every time that stupid girl glanced over her shoulder. In fact, the whole situation had him generously pissed off. First she wore forbidden cosmetics, then she snuck out after hours, and now she was wearing clothes he had been sure he'd burnt? The voices in his head were right, this girl was a threat. But he'd dealt with threats before -- in fact, he'd had the earth swallow them like candies by a child. Surely this one would be a piece of cake.  
"Get where you're going, you bitch," he muttered, and was forced to hide behind a large blue mailbox when she turned around again.  
  
After nearly five minutes of paranoid walking and glancing, Gabe came to a stop in front of the high school. She slowly sat on the short brick wall that jutted out from the building that housed the auditorium, looking slowly over the place she'd been dreading her return to that fall. Summer vacation was only two weeks from ending before the insane children had run their town; now it was only a week from the start of school, but she knew -- with a bittersweet smirk -- that it wouldn't be opening as she'd dreaded. It would stay closed and locked, dark and burnt black from where the leader of the children had thrown his corn-stalk torches. The part that had fared the best was, surprisingly, her favorite -- the auditorium. Gabe had snuck out the night before too, just to see what hadn't been totally destroyed; the auditorium was only singed around the edges, and most of the chairs in the audience were still intact. Most of the black curtains looked like they hadn't been touched, but the large red curtain that hung in front was blackened and had a few holes here and there. It had saddened her more than she thought it could as she had stood there that night, staring at that battered red curtain in the darkened auditorium. Funny that it was still hard to cry for the lost adults, but the sight of a singed curtain could bring tears to her eyes.  
"What time is it, Gabrielle?" a quiet voice asked from behind. Gabe was so startled she nearly fell off the wall. When she twisted and saw Micah, she set her jaw tightly and turned her back on him again, staring intently at the darkening sky.  
"Wouldn't know," she said evenly. "Your cronies took my watch." The boy slowly walked around the wall and stood in front of her, his hands laced neatly behind his back.  
"The sun has set," Micah responded, a soft kind of authority in his voice. Gabe began to glare at him, then noticed a smear of brown sauce on his chin; for some reason, it struck her as immensely funny and she had to cover her mouth before her snort turned into laughter. His dark brows met in a confused scowl. "What?"  
"Your... chin," she managed, and snorted again. Micah touched his chin gingerly, saw the remains of chicken casserole on his fingertips, and immediately wiped his mouth on his sleeve.  
"You wouldn't laugh if you knew who you were dealing with, little archangel," he snarled. She stopped making strangled laughing noises and slowly straightened on her wall, her face hardening a little.  
"Bite me, psychotic freak," she snapped crisply.  
  
The insolence of this girl! The sheer disrespect! Micah felt his insides flare with hot anger, but he stepped slowly closer, determined not to let her see him falter.  
"I believe I set a dress code as well as a curfew," he said coldly, and looked her over briefly. "As far as I can remember, ripped jeans and a shirt with swiss cheese on it were not deemed as acceptable."  
"It's Spongebob Squarepants," Gabe said defensively. The anger was temporarily replaced with utter confusion.  
"What?"  
"Spongebob Squarepants," she said again, and pointed at the alleged swiss cheese on her red shirt. "A cartoon. On Nickelodeon?" When his only reponse was a blank stare, she lowered her hand with a sigh. "Forget it."  
"You're out after the harvest," Micah growled, his anger returning again. "You're wearing banned clothes, and I'll judge by your hair that you have forbidden cosmetics as well." He stepped even closer, bending so his eyes were level with hers. "I would suggest you run along home and pray for forgiveness." Gabe kept her head lowered for a moment, then slowly tipped her chin up, her mouth set in a defiant line.  
"To your God?" she asked softly. "I don't think so. And as far as I can tell, mine stopped listening about two weeks ago, so praying is pretty much out of the picture."  
  
There was a very long moment of silence after she said those words, and for a second Gabe thought he was going to kill her right there. Then Micah slowly leaned even closer, his nose almost touching hers. The pause gave her a chance to really see his eyes for the first time, and how they weren't all dark -- they had tiny flecks of brown and green in them. For the second time that day, she thought she was going to be kissed.  
"Be careful, Gabrielle," Micah said, his voice a deadly whisper. "Even angels have been known to fall." Suddenly, his hands shot out and shoved her off the wall; too surprised to react, Gabe could do nothing but fall hard on her rear end, letting out a small cry as she did so. Micah turned on his heel and began walking away, his hands neatly behind his back and a spring in his step. It took a second to get her wind back.  
"You're just a big bully, aren't you?" she yelled after him. "Can't do anything better than push down girls to make them cry? Is that it?" When he didn't respond, Gabe got shakily to her feet and rubbed her aching rump sorely. She hadn't expected him to do that. With a wince, she turned slowly for the auditorium and headed inside.  
  
Micah slowed his steps gradually, the initial satisfaction he'd gotten from the look on her face fading quickly. There had been pain in her voice, something that went deeper than how her tailbone must have hurt. And as much as he hated himself for it, it was bothering him.  
"Have to take her back to the houses," he said firmly to himself. "She isn't supposed to be out after hours." And though the voices in his head screamed in protest, Micah slowly turned around and walked back to the auditorium. 


	5. Sacrilege

**Title:** Hell on Earth  
**Author:** Meagan-bird  
**Rating:** PG-13  
**Summary:** AU (alternate universe). Say that Frank Redbear died before he could push the Harvester forward. Well, what then? Press on, children, press on! I need lots of reviews to make sure I'm doing this right.  
**Disclaimer:** I own nothing but the fic you see before you and the citizens of St. Cecilia. Can't sue me, I'm makin' no money! HAH! COTC and whatnot belong to Stephen King and all those people.  
  
The auditorium was dark.  
  
Gabe limped in, rubbing her tailbone sorely, and headed up one of the empty aisles. The auditorium was lined neatly with cushioned movie-theater style seats, most of which had been bright red before being singed black around the edges. She had loved the theater, and -- even while looking at the sad, wilted building that took the place of the proud auditorium -- she supposed she still did.  
  
She trudged her way up the stairs and stumbled a little on the last step. Gabe cursed as she did so, her sore rear end flaring with pain once again; she always tripped on that step, _always_, every day at the beginning of drama class. Without fail. By the second semester, the teacher and students had waited patiently for her to climb up the stairs and trip, almost as if expecting class couldn't proceed without it happening. One time, Gabe had disappointed them all by swinging up the side of the stage and landing neatly on her feet. Upon realizing she missed the little tradition, she continued to take the stairs and amuse everyone else to no end. Like the sight of the majestic red curtain all blackened and weary-looking, the familiar trip made tears threaten at the back of her eyes. But she still resolved not to cry -- the look on Micah's face was too smug to give him that satisfaction. She _wouldn't _cry. Straightening herself on that step, Gabe finished her climb up the stairs and silently crossed to center stage.  
  
Micah slipped into the auditorium quietly, not even bothering to close the door behind him. The theater was dark, and that was to his advantage; his black clothing would help him stay well out of sight. He squinted slightly, trying to figure out what on earth the girl was doing; she was standing in the middle of the stage, just standing there, her face tipped up towards the ceiling. Slowly, she took a deep breath and relaxed her arms at her sides. Micah could barely see her lips moving, as though she were reciting something to some invisible audience. His brows met in a small frown.  
  
What on _earth _was she _doing?_  
  
Gabe went through every part of the scene she remembered; they had done "Taming of the Shrew" very recently, so why was she having so much trouble remembering her lines?  
"Not so much jade bear you if me you mean," she mouthed, and cursed quietly. "Dammit. That's not right. Or is it?" Gabe made a soft hissing noise through her teeth and collected herself. _"Stop._ I can _do _this." She paused, closed her eyes, and started over from the beginning.  
  
Micah slunk slowly towards the stage, weaving in and out of the burnt theater seats. He never took his eyes off the girl; she was still mouthing silently, occasionally pausing to whisper angrily to herself. There was something oddly entrancing about the strange ritual. She was bathed in pale blue moonlight from the large-paned windows, her hair sending silvery glints into the air. Her stance was so relaxed and fluid he knew she wasn't aware of his presence; Micah found the silence and swift, fluent movement of her lips strangely attractive before he could even stop himself.  
"Stop it," he hissed, his voice audible only to his own ears. "Stop that_ right now,_ it's -- it's blasphemy! A sacrilege! It's..." He trailed off, still staring at her intently. No matter how blasphemous it was, he couldn't take his eyes off her.  
  
Gabe stopped mid-sentence, somewhere in the process of explaining a woman's tongue to Petruchio, and let her eyes drift open. It was useless. Didn't matter how long or how flawlessly she performed this scene -- nothing would ever be how it was. Even if someone did come to save them from the psychotic teens, nothing would ever bring the adults back. Every adult she had known and been friends with was gone, and along with them everything she had known to be normal. Suddenly choked with tears, Gabe began to leave the stage, but slowly stopped and turned back to face the invisible audience. The drama teacher had always told them to announce their name after reading a piece. She opened her mouth and said in a tremulous voice,   
"My name is Gabe Sterling. Thank you." Gabe straightened a little and walked off stage right, being sure to keep her steps even and confident. She left the square of pale blue moonlight that shone on the stage and strode past the big red curtain, but that was as far as she made it. For nearly three weeks, she had managed not to cry; she had kept herself together and showed a calm (if somewhat mournful) face to the children who had mercilessly killed a good portion of her hometown. But now, the simple action of walking offstage brought on the pent-up tears with full force. Gabe turned towards the wall and leaned her arms against it, pressing her forehead against the black-painted stone, and let herself cry.  
  
Micah slunk slowly up the stairs and crept towards her, being careful to avoid the patch of moonlight hitting center stage. What was she doing now? Gabe was leaning against the wall with her back to him, her shoulders trembling slightly. His brows knit together involuntarily. As he had read once when he was little, things were getting curiouser and curiouser. Micah stepped cautiously closer, cleared his throat, and finally made his presence known.  
"I believe I gave you orders," he said coolly. "You were to go back to the houses and --" He stopped mid-sentence as she whirled, her fluid relaxation quickly becoming tense again; Gabe's face was surprised, but more importantly, streaked with tears. And once again, Micah felt that involuntary twinge of sympathy.  
"What do you want _now?"_ she asked at last.  
  
_ Damn it, _Gabe cursed silently. _What the hell is he planning?_  
"I --" Micah cleared his throat, then tried again, and it made her frown to hear him sound uncertain. "I don't want anything. It's just -- you're supposed to be in the houses." He emphasized the last few words with a weak gesture towards the window. She followed his hand, then looked back at his face. There was something... different. It was then she realized her own face was soaking wet with tears; Gabe lifted her arm and wiped her cheeks with the back of her hand.  
"I needed some time to myself, all right?" she snapped. "I'll get back to the goddamn house on my own. I don't need you walking me home." There was a short pause before Micah took in a breath through his teeth, and quite suddenly the something different was gone.  
"I thought perhaps you needed me to lead you there," he hissed, obviously out of patience. "When someone isn't bright enough to follow my simple rules, I fear they might have trouble getting to the houses themselves and need a little hand-holding."  
"And what on _earth _or in _hell _made you think I wanted to hold your hand?" Gabe responded coldly. His brows met in a glare, and in one swift movement he moved in, pinning her roughly against the wall. The surprise of the sudden move stole her breath; she let out a small gasp as the back of her head struck the stone wall sharply, and for a brief moment stars flashed into her vision. Then Micah's face was all she could see, a menacing view of dark brows and an angry mouth.  
"You don't seem to _understand_," he whispered, his voice deathly serious, "what happened when I came here. Everything that once was is gone now. _Gone_. And I am in charge. I am the Word, and the Giver of his Way, and you will do _well _to remember it." Gabe set her jaw stubbornly and tilted her chin up at him.  
"Fuck... you."  
  
Something black in its hatred had seized his insides, twisting them into painful knots. Micah glared into her tear-streaked face and took a slow breath in. He could smell no fear. There was no fear on the girl, and that made him furious. He had the word of He Who Walks Behind The Rows behind him, he had a horde of obedient children, he had power and charm and strength and she... wasn't... afraid.  
"You are a very stupid girl," he whispered. Gabe just leaned her face closer to his.  
"Bite me," she responded just as quietly. Micah's lips trembled with rage.  
"He Who Walks Behind The Rows --" he began, and pressed his mouth hard against hers.  
  
Gabe's body jerked back against the wall as their lips met roughly. For a moment, she could scarcely think; it had been so sudden and unexpected that her mind froze in surprise. How dare he! she thought furiously, curling her hands into fists at her sides. How dare... And then her body betrayed her. Gabe slowly melted into the kiss, her fists unclenching and her lips moving carefully with his. She hesitantly lifted her hands to touch his thick black hair, forgetting for one beautiful moment everything that was wrong in her world.  
  
There were two shocks that came with the kiss: the first being a nearly deafening scream of anguish from the voices in his head, and the second being how soft her lips were. Micah unconciously pushed away the shouts of distress and focused wholly on the second (and distinctly more pleasant) shock. He hadn't seen the kiss coming any better then she had, and Micah was sure he was the more startled of the two. It had happened so quickly; one minute, he wanted her dead on a cross in the cornfields, and the next he had to know if her lips were as soft as they looked.  
  
They were.  
  
For some reason, the fingers sliding tentatively into his hair were the last straw for the voices in his head; they joined in a collective howl of rage, and Micah jerked away as though burned by fire. Gabe was left against the wall, looking both shocked and dazed. Her hands remained in the air.  
"Micah," she whispered breathlessly. Micah licked his lips, his face a few inches from hers. He took in a slow breath, opened his mouth to speak --  
  
then turned and fled from the theater. 


	6. Good Girl

**Title:** Hell on Earth  
**Author:** Meagan-bird  
**Rating:** PG-13  
**Summary:** AU (alternate universe). Say that Frank Redbear died before he could push the Harvester forward. Well, what then? Press on, children, press on! I need lots of reviews to make sure I'm doing this right.  
**Disclaimer:** I own nothing but the fic you see before you and the citizens of St. Cecilia. Can't sue me, I'm makin' no money! HAH! COTC and whatnot belong to Stephen King and all those people.  
**Author's Note:** I'm incredibly sorry this has taken so long. Drama and boy problems have taken up most of my time lately, and when I _did _finally write a new chapter (which was really really good, if I do say so myself) my aunt's computer completely screwed up the disk I'd saved it on, so I lost it. I've only just now had time to sit down and work on any writing at all, so I thought I'd start with this. I hope you think it's worth the wait.  
  
       His mind was on fire.  
  
Micah had made it as far as the spacious porch of the hotel before the unbearable pain in his head made his legs give out; the moment his lips had left Gabe's, his entire being had seemed to explode in an inferno of unthinkable agony. The voices all joined together in a screaming torrent of sound, shrieking in foreign tongues and familiar ones, the sheer force of their rage threatening to make his head shatter like porcelain against stone.  
"Our Father, who art in heaven," he was mumbling frantically, hoping like mad that his desperate prayer would somehow satisfy the obviously angry deity in his head. "Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned -- I have -- oh God --"  
_You have sinned. Ha. Sinned?! You have destroyed CENTURIES of planning, AGES of waiting for the right moment to strike --  
_"Our Father," Micah whimpered pitifully, and let out a shaky cry as another stab of pain nearly sliced his mind in two.  
_SILENCE, blaspheme! Do you have ANY idea, ANY idea how long it has taken to move everything into place?! And you have ruined EVERYTHING with your sinful adolescent urges!  
_Micah's fingers twisted painfully in his thick, dark hair; Gabe's hands had been there not even five minutes ago, but his touch had none of the tenderness hers had. His scalp was beginning to throb with a dull ache from the way he was pulling on it -- it was nothing compared to what He Who Walks Behind The Rows was doing to him.  
"I have -- _sinned _--" he gasped desperately, and that was all he could manage; the pain was beginning to make him incoherent.  
_Everything is ruined. All my plans, all my work... shattered in an instant by a foolish boy. Isaac may have been a mistake, but you, Micah, are a tragedy.  
_The agony began to intensify, slowly but surely, and Micah forced his mouth to form words.  
_"She could help!"_ he nearly shrieked.  
  
For one blessed moment, the pain stopped.  
  
Micah collapsed in an exhausted heap on the porch, barely feeling the crack of his head against the cool cement. There was a long pause as the voices quieted to an odd kind of curious hush, but at last He spoke again.  
_Go on, boy. I'm listening.  
_Micah wet his lips, trying to remember what it was he had realized in his moment of agony.  
"Gabe -- the girl -- I mean, the threat --" His mind was still reeling, so he took a breath or two before continuing. "She's important to the other children. She has influence. Maybe -- if I get close to her -- if I change her --" Another deep breath. Micah knew He wouldn't tolerate rambling. "She would be able to convert the other children. I teach her, she teaches them, and the insubordination stops." There was another long pause, one that made him tremble in anticipation -- he wasn't sure he could handle any more of His punishment.  
_You have surprised me, child. Yes, you will work your charm on her and convert her to our ways. But you CANNOT fail -- remember, what I have showed you here is only a sliver of what I can do to you. Fail, and I will make you wish I had left you in that dark place to wither and die.  
_He fell silent; Micah laid there against the cool concrete for a minute more, and then finally got to his feet, somewhat shakily.  
"I will not fail," he whispered, and set out to find the archangel.  
  
Gabe's steps were slow and deliberate, but she was barely paying attention to where she was going. As much as she hated it, Micah was all she could think about.  
"Fuck," she hissed softly under her breath, and kicked a small rock across the road, watching it skitter over the asphalt and careen off the curb. "Shouldn't even be thinking about this. He's a murderer, a grade-A psycho, a..." Gabe trailed off; she looked upwards at the clear night sky and let out a slow, even breath. "A damn good kisser," she muttered, somewhat guiltily. She stopped walking and slowly tilted her head back, looking at the swollen late summer moon. Gabe's brow creased slightly; a line from the play they'd read last year, "The Crucible", was running through her mind again and again. "I'm a good girl, I'm a proper girl," she whispered, remembering the far-from-proper Abigail's defense. It was weird that she should remember something like that out of nowhere, Gabe observed dimly, but for some reason it was playing through her head like a broken record. _I'm a good girl, I'm a proper girl._  
_"Now _you're following orders?" a dry voice asked, and she nearly tripped over a chipped old fire hydrant in surprise.  
"Jesus fucking _Christ," _Gabe spat heatedly, straightening so she could face Micah fully. He was sitting neatly atop the small brick wall jutting out from the hardware store; his legs were crossed in a cool display of defiance, and the small smirk playing on his lips made her want to stalk over and smack it off of him. "Can't you ever just say 'hi' like a normal person?!"  
"So _angry, _child," he murmured. "I don't mean to offend." In a fluid, catlike motion, Micah slid off the wall and landed neatly on his feet, regarding her with some interest. Before she could think of a biting retort, Gabe's attention went to how he had briefly licked his lips after looking her over; her face flushed suddenly red, and her eyes flicked to the ground.  
"You don't mean to offend." She crossed her arms self-conciously over her chest and tried to focus on a small oddly-shaped rock. "Then what the hell were you doing in the auditorium, Romeo? Or are you Amish people like the Mormons? Spread the seed wherever you can?" Micah opened his mouth to speak, but Gabe glanced up and sneered openly at him. "Or was that the kiss of death? Like the Mafia? How long do I have before I start receiving dead fish in newspapers on my front porch?" Micah had been staring at her the whole time she was talking, his head tilted and a very small smile on his face, and now that she was done his smile broadened.  
"Are you always this defensive, archangel, or is it just when you fear you've caught cooties from a boy?" he asked in a good-natured tone. Gabe's mouth popped open in a surprised 'o' and hung open like that -- she could think of nothing to say. Instead she thought again of how good his mouth had felt on hers, and her mind played that endless defense: _I'm a good girl, I'm a proper girl._  
"I'm not being defensive!" she spat at last, but Micah only chuckled and walked closer, leaving less than a foot of space between them.  
"You should go home." His voice was low and not threatening at all -- but it was _infuriating. _Gabe decided, with gritted teeth, that she liked it better when he was yelling at her about hellfire than when he patronized her.  
"I... don't... want... to," she said slowly, forming each word carefully and giving it to him as if he were a small child. Honestly, Gabe _did _want to go home, but there was nothing she hated more than being patronized. And, a little voice she'd tried to ignore insisted, she was intrigued by his sudden mood swing. _And, _yet another voice piped up, she was wondering exactly where he was headed with the conversation. _I'm a good girl, I'm a proper girl._  
  
Micah gave her another pleasantly cool smile, one he knew would make her even angrier than she already was. Who knew that the way to get to the sharp-tongued blonde was to simply be _nice _to her?  
"I could escort you to the houses, if you're too scared to go alone," he said evenly, and her chest hitched in indignation.  
"I'm not scared," Gabe snapped vehemently. "I'm just _trying _to get the hell away from _you! _Now why won't you take a god damned hint and just --" She began to whirl away, but Micah seized her easily by the shoulders and pulled her back with a jerk, making their faces so close that their noses touched.  
"You will come with me," he said in a dangerously quiet tone, his patience having ebbed just slightly. "There will be no struggling on your part, or I will drag you to the fields myself and have a sacrifice. You will come with me, and I will show you exactly what happens to infidels who challenge the word of our God, and you will _learn._ You will _learn _and you will _remember." _Micah began to release her, then, deciding he liked the look of pure surprise on her face, tightened his grip again. "Do you understand, archangel?"  
"My name is Gabrielle," she whispered, and after a mere moment of defiance she lowered her eyes. "I understand."  
"Good," he murmured, and released her. "Follow me."  
  
Gabe followed him up the seemingly endless flights of stairs, her heart racing -- and now not from curiousity. When he said he would kill her, he had _meant _it; stubborn as she was, she wasn't ready to die yet. When they reached room number 911 (a number, she observed, that might've been helpful if they had any policemen), Micah opened the door and held it there in an almost mockingly gentleman-like manner. Setting her jaw in an expression of defiance, Gabe moved forward and into the room; he followed and shut the door behind him. _Oh God, _she thought suddenly, but her fear of dying was gone as fast as her initial curiousity; Micah was standing in front of the door, his back pressed against it, his face masked by shadows. Nothing really had changed, but her mind said it again -- _Oh God. _It was then she had realized, in that dark hotel room in the middle of a town ruled by psychotic teenagers, that she wanted Micah to kiss her again.  
  
She was standing in front of the window, what little moonlight there was filtering past her shape and resting on the carpet. Micah tried to keep his eyes from wandering, but he couldn't help it; he suddenly _wanted _this girl, wanted her like he'd never wanted anything before in his life... yet he couldn't, he had to follow the Lord's plan, he couldn't fail, but oh God how his breath was getting quicker...  
"See that cross?" he said at last, not moving from the door but pointing out the window. Gabe obediently turned her head to look. Micah took the opportunity to inhale deeply, struggling to control his breathing, then went on. "Nailed to that cross is the one adult in this town who was stupid enough to resist the word of He Who Walks Behind The Rows. I believe he was a police officer... he was so foolish he actually pulled out a gun and attempted to shoot me in the head." He laughed softly, but instead of sounding threatening like he had meant it to be, it seemed like just a breathless rush of air. "Our Lord would not tolerate such a loss. The bullet exploded in mid-air, shattering and sending shards of red-hot metal into the infidel's eyes. He was blinded by his own blood ..." He trailed off, seeing her wince slightly. "The Children, in honor of their leader's deliverance by He Who Walks Behind The Rows, cut out his tongue and raised him on the cross. He's been blindly 'watching' the fields for over two weeks now... no one has bothered to see if he still breathes." Micah tried to step away from the door, but it seemed to be his sanctuary and he remained leaning against it. Gabe's eyes were wide and shockingly blue in the dim light; she stared at the cross dumbly, at a loss for words, and he tried not to think about how he'd never seen a blue that shade before. "You see, archangel," Micah said, his voice nearly a whisper as he finally stepped away from the door and put less than half a foot between them, "our god is no god of love and redemption. Our god thirsts for blood and obedience, and that is all you need provide him with. He will _not _tolerate insubordination -- nor will I." She finally turned to look at him, and her shoulder pressed gently against Micah's chest; he hoped desperately she couldn't feel how deeply he was breathing.  
"What are you trying to prove, Micah?" Gabe asked softly.  
  
And in that instant, he kissed her again.  
  
She had barely finished saying his name before she found his mouth pressed hard against hers; Gabe immediately lifted her hands and slid them into his thick, dark hair, abandoning all worries or thoughts except for one -- _I'm a good girl, I'm a proper girl._  
  
Micah felt her hands inch into his hair and waited for the explosion of pain, but there was none; his own hands wandered to her waist, pulling her closer against him as he kissed her with every pent-up emotion he had in him. Everything that had been suppressed before and after Hemmingford was coming out in this kiss, whether he liked it or not.  
"Mm --" He made a sound of surprise as he felt her hands leave his hair and begin to nimbly unbutton his shirt. Micah took one of her hands in his, stilling it, and Gabe looked at him; their eyes met for one brief moment, and then He spoke.  
_Go on, child. Do what must be done. Bind her to you, and she'll be yours to shape._  
After that brief moment of hesitation, he released her hand and pulled her back to his mouth.  
  
Gabe went back to unbuttoning his shirt, not even fully sure of what she was doing. She wasn't exactly new to this kind of thing, but the situation was hardly normal -- and yet there she was, stripping the leader of the corn-cult's shirt right off his back as he fumbled clumsily with hers. In a matter of moments, she had inched them towards the bed, and though it took a prompting tug, Micah leaned her back against it and moved atop her. He hesitated once more, the clasp of her bra seeming to be a terribly perplexing prospect, but Gabe expertly undid it and looked at him expectantly. Micah swallowed, licked his lips, and pressed his mouth against hers again as she moved for the button on his pants.  
  
_I'm a good girl, I'm a proper girl._  
  
Out in the cornfields, the wind was blowing gently over the stalks, swaying them carefully in the breeze like a mother rocking her newborn child. The night summer air was thick and warm, and the moon hung heavily in the sky as though swollen. And somewhere in Hemmingford, the two most important pieces in the plan of He Who Walks Behind The Rows unknowingly sealed what was to come in the days ahead.  
  
And He was pleased.  



	7. Normal

**Title:** Hell on Earth  
**Author:** Meagan-bird  
**Rating:** PG-13  
**Summary:** AU (alternate universe). Say that Frank Redbear died before he could push the Harvester forward. Well, what then? Press on, children, press on! I need lots of reviews to make sure I'm doing this right.  
**Disclaimer:** I own nothing but the fic you see before you and the citizens of St. Cecilia. Can't sue me, I'm makin' no money! HAH! COTC and whatnot belong to Stephen King and all those people.  
  
       Gabe woke around 5:30 am.  
  
Her eyes slowly drifted halfway open; she idly stretched her neck, then her shoulders, listening to the creaks of her old mattress as she did so. Before even glancing at the clock Gabe had an idea of how early it was, so instead of getting out of bed (or even opening her eyes fully) she mumbled something softly under her breath and rolled over, intent on burying her face in the pillow and going back to sleep. Instead, she hit cool smooth skin, and it took her a good five seconds to realize she had her nose pressed against Micah's bare chest.  
"Holy _shit --" _Gabe shot to a sitting position, nearly forgetting to pull a blanket with her as she did so. She glanced wildly around the room and tried to get her bearings while Micah lazily opened his eyes with a smile.  
"Good morning," he said, and yawned grandly.  
"What the hell am I _doing --" _Gabe stopped suddenly, remembering how she hadn't gone home the night before, and suddenly it all clicked. "Oh, God. Oh... oh God." She paused a moment to peek under her sheets as if maybe it wasn't as bad as it seemed, but it only confirmed her fears. "Oh, FUCK!"  
"Something wrong, archangel?" Micah was regarding her with a dark-eyed gaze, propped up languidly on his elbows.  
"Don't call me that!" Gabe snapped, and he surprised her by immediately looking hurt; she sank down to her back again, staring at the cheap plastered hotel ceiling. "Fuck," she said again, more quietly this time. Micah hesitated, rolling to his side, then slowly inched closer and placed a gentle hand on her bare shoulder.  
"Are you all right?" he asked earnestly. Gabe refused to let herself look at him.  
"I'm a good girl, I'm a proper girl," she whispered. Micah paused in confusion.  
"What?"  
"Oh, so first you're seductive corn hottie, then after you've been in my pants you're Mr. After-Morning Understanding?" She finally snapped her eyes to him and gave him the coldest glare she could manage. "That's not _fair! _ You have to be a big dumb jerk so I can hate you for sleeping with me and then leave all mad!" Micah looked perplexed at first, but after a moment he smiled gently and inched a little closer.  
"Did you have a nice time?" he asked delicately, and dipped his head to her shoulder before she could answer. Gabe bit down hard on her lower lip as she felt him slowly nuzzle his nose against her skin.  
"What the hell is _wrong _with me?" she mumbled, half to herself. "Why do I let these things _happen --_" She began to pull away, dragging the sheets with her (as she was _not _planning on waltzing around naked in front of those dark eyes), but Micah grabbed her firmly by the arm and tugged her back in bed with surprising strength.  
"Acting like a _pleasant _human being doesn't seem to affect you much," he said, his voice low but not very threatening, "so if I have to be harsh with you, I will. I'd like you to stay with me for a while." Gabe's eyes narrowed; she straightened, hiked up her sheets a little, and swung a leg over the edge of the bed as she started to leave again. Micah's hand, still wrapped tightly around her forearm, gave a healthy tug and sent her flying back into him. Before Gabe could even open her mouth to protest his was there, stopping all her words and making her muscles melt into submission. A moment went by before she pulled back slightly and broke the kiss.  
"You're a jerk," she said huskily, but it didn't sound all that convincing.  
"_Must _you be so difficult?" Micah asked with a small smile, and pulled her close again with less than a struggle.  
  
Jeremy trotted down the stairs briskly, a small concerned frown on his face. He'd been searching the second floor for nearly fifteen minutes now, and unless Gabe was playing some twisted game of hide and seek, she wasn't there. There was a group of teenagers feeding the younger children in his kitchen, and he headed towards them with new hope.  
"Has anybody seen Gabe this morning?" he asked quickly, glancing from face to face of the familiar children. Children he could trust.  
"I haven't seen her since last night," said a girl spoon-feeding old Cheerio's to a squirmy four-year-old. She paused as the baby took a bite, then looked up at him with unspoken fear. "Do you think they might've --"  
"No," Jeremy snapped immediately, and whirled away from her, not even wanting to let the thought cross his mind. "Gabe's smart, she can take care of herself. She's probably just -- I'll check next door."   
  
Micah had been waiting for instructions from Him all morning, but it was nearly 7:00 am now and He had yet to speak up. It wasn't exactly a tragedy, either, as Micah wasn't entirely fond of disembodied voices piping up when Gabe had her tongue in his mouth.  
"What are we doing?" she gasped abruptly, suddenly using the hands she'd placed on his bare chest to push herself back. He frowned slightly and lifted a hand to brush a few errant strands of blonde hair from her eyes. They were blue, yes, but worried and tense -- and still that startling shade of blue. Days ago, he would've merely set her aside as a rebellious child needing to be tamed. Now she was something more... what, exactly, Micah wasn't sure, but definately something more. _Part of His plan, _he thought suddenly, and part of him cringed a little.  
"We're kissing," Micah said with a touch of sarcasm. "Like this." He moved forward, trying to coax her lips to his, but the palms on his chest tensed again and pushed him back.  
_"No, _Micah," Gabe snapped, then her voice softened. "What are we _doing? _Last night you were going to put me up like that cop on the cross, and now you're --" She trailed off, blushing slightly as she realized the fault was not his alone, and slowly crawled out of his lap to sit out of his reach on the other side of the bed. He watched her do so with disappointment. "And now _we're _fooling around like we're a couple of normal horny teenagers."  
"We're teenagers," Micah pointed out coolly.  
"But we're not _normal." _She stuck her head under the covers and emerged with the end of a blanket in her hand; with surprising grace, Gabe twisted out of the bed and wrapped herself in the thin cotton sheet without ever giving him a glimpse of skin. "This... _situation _we're in is in no way _normal. _And I can't stay here and do this when I know you're responsible for taking away everything I ever knew to _be _normal..." She shook her head and hurried to the dresser where her red shirt lay, haphazardly slung over the back and threatening to fall into the darkness behind it. Micah took hold of a velvety hotel blanket and quickly wrapped himself in it, getting to his feet to follow her.  
"Gabrielle, stop." He came up behind her and placed a hand on her shoulder; she jerked away in surprise, bumping her knees hard into the dresser. Her shirt finally teetered over the edge and disappeared.  
"Fuck," she cursed heatedly, bending over and groping behind the dresser with harsh, jerky movements. Feeling awkward for the first time in quite a while, Micah swallowed and dropped to a knee.  
"I'm sorry, let me help --"  
"No, I've _got _it, just back off!" Gabe shoved aside his fumbling hand and grasped her shirt, then whirled and headed for her jeans. He hesitated on the floor for a moment, his brows twisted in a small frown, then stood and followed her again.  
  
Her mind was reeling, but there was no time to stop and think. Gabe knew very well that if she stayed there for much longer there'd be no helping her. She'd develop some sort of attachment to the murderous corn-worshipper, and _that _was unthinkable -- she had to get out while her one-night-stand was still only that.  
"Where the hell are my boots?" she muttered under her breath, peering under the bed.  
"Gabe." She paused, then slowly straightened; he was standing right behind her, and when he spoke again his voice was a pleasantly low rumble in her ear. "This did not happen by accident. He brought us together. He chose you."  
_"He _chose me," Gabe said quietly, not trusting herself enough to turn around. There was a pause; slowly, she felt a hand creep up her arm and rest gently on her shoulder.  
_"I _chose you," Micah whispered in a soft, husky voice, and lowered his mouth to her skin. Gabe inhaled sharply and tightened the deathgrip she had on her clothes.  
"I have to go." She turned around and tried to dodge him, but he put his body square in her path and she bumped into Micah's chest. Gabe raised her eyes to his and immediately knew she'd made a mistake; his eyes were dark, but she could see those little flecks of green and gold in them, just like she'd seen outside the auditorium the other night. His eyes caught hers and held them, and Gabe again felt the desperate urge to get out of the hotel as fast as she could, fully clothed or not.  
"If you're sure you're leaving," he murmured, his voice drifting, and then his lips twitched up into a sideways smirk as he held up her sheer black bra. "Then you might need this, huh?" All at once, the old indignation came back; Gabe felt the flare of anger rise in her chest and she fixed him with cold glare, snatching the bra from his hand as she stormed past him. His voice called after her. "What's the matter? I thought it was nice!"  
"You're a fucking _jerk," _she yelled, aware that the Children could probably hear her on other floors and not really caring at all. Micah followed her to the hall.  
"Isn't that what you wanted? You were determined to leave angry, so I thought I may as well play my part!" Gabe stopped at the stairwell; his voice was angry, yes, but she thought she detected an undertone of hurt too. Just as she considered turning to apologize, he spoke again, this time with a quiet cynicism. "It was pretty good, you know. I'm quite glad I had you before you turned 19. You know what happens when you turn 19, don't you, archangel?"  
"If you _ever _come near me again, I'll fucking kill you," Gabe whispered, the words escaping her mouth before she even knew they were there. "And I won't need help from some shitty corn demon." Then she went forward, nearly tripping over her sheet as she stumbled down the stairs, her arms full of clothes and her eyes stinging with hot tears. 


	8. To Be His

**Title:** Hell on Earth  
**Author:** Meagan-bird  
**Rating:** PG-13  
**Summary:** AU (alternate universe). Say that Frank Redbear died before he could push the Harvester forward. Well, what then? Press on, children, press on! I need lots of reviews to make sure I'm doing this right.  
**Disclaimer:** I own nothing but the fic you see before you and the citizens of St. Cecilia. Can't sue me, I'm makin' no money! HAH! COTC and whatnot belong to Stephen King and all those people.  
  
Ruth had seen her leave.  
  
A clumsy stumbling sound from the stairwell had drawn her from the kitchen, leaving Jedediah with his half-made omelets. She crept quietly down the corridor and poked her head around the corner; the girl with spiky blonde hair -- Gage, or something masculine like that -- was hurriedly buttoning her jeans, clasping a red shirt in her hand and wearing nothing else but a black bra.  
"Son of a bitch," she was cursing loudly as she stormed for the lobby doors. "Son of a fucking BITCH." Ruth frowned in confusion, trying to figure out what exactly was going on and why that girl (whom she didn't care for much at_ all) _was half-clothed in their hotel so early in the morning. Gage-or-whatever paused briefly by the doors to pull on the rest of her clothes, but before she did so something caught her attention. Halfway in and out of her shirt, she peered at something apparently on the skin of her collarbone; Ruth saw her face twist in disgust and surprise as she looked wildly over the rest of her body. "Oh, _holy hell!"_ Ruth was far enough away to avoid being seen, but not too far away to miss the large purple mark that Gage was furious about; something inside her went cold at the thought of what it might mean. Meanwhile, the girl angrily struggled the rest of the way into her shirt and stalked out.  
"What have we here?" Ruth whispered softly to herself.  
"Ruth?" Jedediah's tentative voice made her jump and whirl. His curly head was poking out of the kitchen. "I need help setting the table for breakfast. Micah --" He hesitated, then finished carefully, "Micah has asked not to be disturbed this morning." Ruth's brows met in a slow, deliberate frown -- and suddenly she wasn't confused.  
"I see," she said simply, and brushed past him into the kitchen.  
  
Micah slowly pulled his pants on, staring at the black material but not really seeing it at all.  
"What did I do wrong?" he murmured to himself. "I did everything you said, I followed orders exactly, I did my very best -- so why did she run?"  
_Women are weak creatures, my child. And thus did Eve allow herself to be tempted by the serpent and lured from the Garden of Eden..._  
Micah zipped up his pants and buttoned them as expertly as she'd undid them the night before, nearly allowing his face to warm at the thought. He caught himself just in time.  
"Will I be punished for my failure, Lord?" The question came out slow and tentative, as he was intensely afraid of the answer; as heavily as Gabe's exit was weighing on his mind, the idea of going back to that unexplainable place of pain was just a little more pressing.  
_No, Micah... you will not be punished. Because this is exactly as I have planned. You will follow the girl._  
"But she said --"  
_You will follow the girl and charm her once again. She is vulnerable. She is tender. She is WEAK. You need merely to use your pretty words to make her docile again... and from there I will instruct you further. For now, follow the girl... find the girl... and make her yours again. If she is unwilling to cooperate... make her realize that she already IS yours, and always will be.  
_Micah waited, his hand on his black shirt, waiting for more. The sermon was somehow inspiring him to skip breakfast and find her _now._  
_Go, Micah._  
He whipped the shirt off the bed and went stealthily for the door, moving with the grace of someone who is very powerful and very aware of it.  
"She is weak," he echoed softly, and slipped away into the halls of the hotel.  
  
"Where the fuck have you _BEEN?!"_  
Gabe winced in response and shut the door behind her. It had been a sneaky, yet obviously unsuccessful attempt to get in past Jeremy, who was now storming towards her. _Great, _she thought sourly. _This is exactly what I need right now, something ELSE with a penis to piss me off._  
"I stayed out last night," she quipped easily, tilting her head back to meet Jeremy's angry green eyes with her cool blue ones. His nostrils were flaring. They only flared when he was _really _hocked off about something.  
"Oh, good," he snapped with a note of sarcasm that just wasn't quite hidden. "I hope you had a _wonderful _time!"  
"You have no idea," Gabe muttered, and began to slip past him up the stairs. He shot out an arm and slammed his open palm against the wall, blocking her way; she looked at his livid face in genuine surprise. He'd never been this angry before. And his expression of such was not going unnoted; there were some small children in the living room peering over the back of the couch with wide eyes. A few older girls who had been quite wrapped up in cleaning the kitchen were now watching unabated, the dishrags forgotten in their hands and bleeding dirty tapwater all over the table.  
"I'm _really fucking glad _you're so cheerful this morning," Jeremy spat heatedly in her face, bringing her attention away from the onlookers and back to the situation at hand. "I thought you were _dead, _Gabe, do you understand that? I thought those crazy fuckers had put you up on a cross just like they did to half of the rest of our families --"  
"Yeah, well, they didn't." Another brief glance around brougth Gabe's decision firmly into place. She was _not _going to discuss this out here. Yes, she was at fault, but the children did _not _need to see them bickering when they were supposed to be the leaders, the two strongest links in their already weakening chain. They would take this elsewhere. "Let's go upstairs, Jeremy, okay? We could --"  
"I think we can discuss this right here! Gabe, do you _understand _how serious this is?! When we live where we do --"  
"I know."  
"With the _freaks _that we do --"  
"I _know."  
_"Precautions need to be taken, Gabe!" That was it. Her patience was spent. It was another of the countless times in the past few days she'd been spoken to like a child, and she was _sick _of it.  
"I'm going upstairs," Gabe hissed through clenched teeth. "I'd really rather you not follow me." She pushed his arm away from the wall harshly and started up the steps, but Jeremy's reflexes were quick; he followed her up the stairs and seized her left shoulder, yanking her back hard enough to pull down the collar of her shirt just slightly. He opened his mouth, then closed it sharply the moment his eyes fell on the angry reddish-purple mark adorning her collarbone. There was a long, tense moment of silence.  
"Where were you last night?" Jeremy asked at last, his tone a quiet threat.  
"I went to town," she said, not untruthfully, and pulled away so hard he fell down the few steps he'd climbed after her. Before he could do much else, Gabe was up the staircase and heading to the bedroom, but not to stay -- she slipped out the window to the gentle slope of the roof, then shimmied down the gutter a short distance to the ground, hitting it at a dead run.  
  
She had to go someplace she wouldn't be found.  
  
Gabe immediately changed direction and headed for the cornfield.  
  
Micah clasped his hands carefully behind his back. She was already deep into the fields, running blindly, this he knew. It was just a matter of time before he caught up with her. Then he would twist her again, bend her until she broke, make her surrender to the will of He Who Walks Behind The Rows and do her rightful work --  
  
He stopped.  
  
She was crying.  
  
"God dammit, stop crying," Gabe half-gasped, half-sobbed to herself; she had finally stopped running once she had no idea where she was and resigned herself to bending over, her hands on her knees, her tears flowing freely from her cheeks to the husk-littered earth. She had no idea when she'd started, but now it seemed unable to stop -- Micah's harsh words had done the first amount of damage, but Jeremy's blow was the most brutal. He had been her friend for God knew how long, and in one night he turned from the one thing she still believed in to an accusatory, snarling enemy. Because she hadn't told him where she was going, because he wanted to monitor her like a child. And because she'd fucked one of the Children of the Corn. Everything was just... not right. "God dammit," Gabe whispered again, and slowly sank to the ground, her knees hitting it with a dull thud. _What the hell is wrong with me?_ she thought hazily, then buried her face in her hands.  
  
Micah stared at her from behind the shelter of the stalks a few feet away; she was on the ground now, crying quietly into her hands, her shoulders trembling slightly with the force. His face was slack, not betraying any emotion, but in all honesty... _he felt something._ And it scared him beyond belief.  
_Micah, don't forget your quest... charm her, bring her back, make her yours. She is the one who is weak, Micah... not you. Don't let her make you weak._  
"Yes, Lord," he mumbled, but there was a small, hurtful twinge in his chest that was hard to ignore. Micah began slipping towards her, ready to charm her, bring her back, make her his... and she looked up with tearful blue eyes, her face tense, the painful-looking marks on her neck standing out harshly against her skin. The twinge in his chest became a twist of pain.  
  
There was a long moment where they did nothing but stare at each other.  
  
Gabe looked up at him, angry at herself for being caught in a moment of weakness and even angrier at _him _for finding her this way. But she wouldn't falter; her face stayed calm and cool, despite the tears pouring down it, and -- ever so slightly -- she tipped her chin back. Just a touch of defiance. She _would not _give in to him. Not again. And if he didn't like it -- just let him try to make a sacrifice. She'd take him down with her.  
  
After a very long, very uneasy moment, he stepped even closer... and dropped to his knees before her.  
  
Micah had no idea what he was doing. He waited for His voice to guide him or for His essence to flow through him, expecting that he was being controlled by a higher power at the moment, but a second of rational thought revealed he was not -- he was on his own. It was of his own free will (and still arguably _not) _that Micah was reaching towards her now, sliding his arms around her, pulling the archangel close to his chest and holding her there. She began to make a noise -- of protest or defeat, he couldn't tell which -- but Micah felt the urgent need to make her silent, to make her _better_, and on an impulse he slid a slow hand into her hair. It had been spiked up the night before in an effort to appear somewhat rebellious, but the following events had flattened it, softened it, made it nicer to the touch. He supposed there was symbolism there, but everything was much too blurry to analyze right now.  
  
Another uncomfortable stretch of time passed before the archangel embraced him in return.  
  
Gabe had fought it as long as she could, but it was just so damn _easy _to feel good in his arms that she slid her own around his thin, black-clad body; she lifted her head to meet his lips in one slow, careful kiss before lowering it to his shoulder and enjoying the feel of his body against hers, the rhythmic touch of his fingers in her hair, the soothing sound of his measured breaths. This was utterly wrong. Utterly wrong, and twisted, and stupid...  
  
And for the moment, she didn't care.  
  
For the moment, she was _his._


End file.
